


Raise Hell

by ABitBored



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Body Shots, Drunkenness, M/M, No Sex, Oblivious Stiles, Tumblr Prompt, yet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitBored/pseuds/ABitBored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's entranced by the loudmouth in one of his college courses who calls himself "Stiles," and just happens to end up doing some body shots off him at a party, totally by coincidence, yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Hell

**Author's Note:**

> for the tumblr prompt by ouchmyfeels "can we have a fic where Derek does body shots off of Stiles, please?"
> 
> title from the Brandi Carlile song by the same name cause its stuck in my head

Derek doesn't usually go out on the weekends. Basically he only leaves his apartment for classes and work. But he heard that stupid kid talking about a party. And Derek can't get that stupid kid out of his head, couldn't since the first time he looked at him a seat down and to the left of Derek's in The History of Imagined Creatures in Art class. From what Derek understands from their one class together, Stiles is a sophmore who made up his own major - some sort of mix between mythology, folklore  and parapsychology, he has a very good friend named Scott who still lives in the very small town they were raised in, a very pretty possible ex named Lydia, who he meets every Wednesday after class for lunch, a dorm mate named Greenburg - who he doesn't seem too fond of, and is openly bisexual. This last little factoid is the one Derek thinks about most often, sometimes at night,and sometimes in the shower. Because it's possible Derek's a little bit obsessed with this stupid kid and his loud mouth and his freckles and messy hair.

 

And it's possible that this one stupid kid is the only reason Derek finds himself at an honest to god frat party on his one Saturday night a month off work drinking honest to god shitty keg beer from a red plastic cup. Derek feels like an idiot about two minutes after arriving, he's twenty six goddamn years old, and most of the kids at this party can't legally buy a drink. He's twenty six and finally getting his life together after a rather debilitating personal tragedy, going to college full time, working nights as a bartender downtown, and living in a real grown up apartment that he pays for all by himself. And apparently has it real bad for a twenty year old little shit who calls himself Stiles, god what kind of name even is that?

 

Derek's decided to leave after about twenty minutes of watching a bunch of underage kids drink themselves into an early grave, or at least liver disease, when he hears that caustic voice across the room shout "Let's do body shots!" 

 

Which is how Derek finds himself watching, utterly transfixed, as Stiles dips his head in between some girls tits and grab a shot of tequila with his fucking sinful lips and throw it back, as his throat works as he swallows. Derek thinks irritably, _they aren't even doing it properly_ , there's no limes and no salt, just trying to get trashed and frisky. Derek watches as a small smirk spreads across Stiles' face as he looks at the girl and says "My turn" with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

 

This is when Derek understands that he's actually gonna do it, he's actually going to talk to Stiles, he might even try to sleep with him. Because his feet are already taking him across the threshold into the kitchen as Stiles lays down on the island. He plasters a fake smile on his face as he makes his way through the thin crowd, knows how to maneuver his body to attract just enough attention as he walks. Stiles undoes the buttons on his flannel all the way down, reveals a lightly haired chest of firm muscle, and then a lovely dark line of hair heading toward his jeans. Derek watches the girl pour a shot into Stile's adorable belly button, watches as she leans down to suck it into her mouth, as both she and Stiles laugh loudly afterwards. Derek notices the girl notice him, notices Stiles notice her wavering attention. Derek sees the glare change into a smolder as Stiles sees who she's looking at. Well, now or never. 

 

"Can I do one?" Derek asks, trying to sound lighthearted, probably missing by a mile. Stiles just nods, his eyes are big and his mouth a little slack, Derek thinks he's probably had too much to drink already.  

 

Stiles hisses "Maddie" under his breath when the girl doesn't immediately hand over the drink. She startles and thrusts the half empty bottle of tequila at Derek, who takes it with a polite smile. Derek doesn't even  _like_  tequila, prefers a good beer over nearly anything, whiskey if he wants to get drunk.

 

Derek surveys Stiles' naked chest, tries to ignore the tightness in his jeans, asks, "What about here?" tapping at the dip between Stiles' clavicle bones. 

 

Stiles makes a choking noise but nods, so Derek leans in and pours as Stiles tilts his head back for better access. A drop starts to run down the side of Stiles neck, and Derek darts in to lick it up, then continues with his tongue to the pool of tequila right at the base of Stiles' neck, and sucks that into his mouth, trying to ignore the burn in favor of the taste of skin. Derek pulls back and looks down at Stiles, whose bottom lip has a line of white teeth marks across it, bemused and captivated. 

 

Stiles voice cracks when he meets Derek's eyes and asks, "Another?"

 

Derek can feel his smile turn genuine, predatory.  He pours the next shot into Stiles' belly button, keeps eye contact as he lowers his head and sucks the liquid into his mouth, swallows. Stiles doesn't breath the whole time, and Derek would be worried, but he can't seem to think past the feel of Stiles' skin under his lips and tongue, how totally fucked he is. Because Stiles is drunk for sure, so there's no way they're hooking up tonight, and even then, Derek doesn't think he can live with Stiles being a hook up, one time or a whole string of them. He wants the real deal for the first time since he was sixteen, he wants to date and do meet the friends and meet the family and move in together and jesus christ he is so totally screwed because as far as Stiles knows he's just some guy in his class who he's done a few body shots with. Stiles has no idea that Derek can't help but overhear his conversations after class, loves everything he adds to the class discussions, whether he agrees or not, because it's always intelligent and thoughtful and honest. Stiles has no idea that Derek owns three leather jackets because he heard Stiles likes them from his coworker Erica, who knew Stiles from freshman classes. 

 

And while all this is running through his head, Stiles picks up a shot glass and offers it to Derek with a grin asking, "One more?" 

 

Derek thinks  _fuck it, in for a penny.._ and sits the glass right on Stiles crotch, makes sure to let his hand linger over the bulge trapped under denim. He fills the glass and swallows whats left of his sanity and ducks down, feels his lips brush against the rough material of Stiles' jeans before grabbing the shot with his teeth and throwing it back. 

 

Derek looks down at Stiles, who's misty eyed and rosy cheeked. Derek didn't notice, but there's a crowd of more than a dozen people around them cheering, and the noise of the party starts to filter back into his consciousness, cat calls and hollers. He can feel his neck start to blush, tries to blame it on the shots but knows he's embarrassed about not even noticing anyone else in the room. Talk about tunnel vision fucking christ. 

 

He takes a step back, and Stiles sits up fast and has to grab on to Derek's jacket to steady himself. Derek, for his part, is frozen in place, a little shocked at how loud everything seems now, and how very _very_ close Stiles' face is to his.

 

"Dude, come home with me."

 

Derek doesn't know how to respond because that's exactly what he wants to do, but exactly the opposite way he wants to do it. So his very flirty, very sophisticated response is, "You're really drunk."

 

"I won't barf, promise, just come back to my dorm and let me take your clothes off, god what are you even made of?" Stiles asks, petting Derek's chest unsteadily, mumbling about how rocks aren't supposed to be warm and soft. 

 

Derek doesn't like the eyes on them, so he says, "Let's get out of here," and heads for the door, an arm around Stiles waist, dragging him along as he shouts, "That's what I'm talkin' about!" 

 

It's a chore to ignore Stiles' open shirt and damp neck, knowing that it's his own lips that put the wetness there, that touched that tender skin, to ignore the heat of Stiles' skin under his palm as they walk out the door to his car. 

The rest of the night goes exactly as smoothly as Derek thinks it will. He drives Stiles back to his dorm, gets tugged in by his collar and kissed like theres no fucking tomorrow right up againt the door. He gets to see Stiles stumble backwards toward his bed, firm grip on Derek's wrist, regardless of Derek's gentle admonishments. Gets to watch Stiles slide into sleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow, before Derek can so much as take off his coat. Gets to leave a note on Stiles' pillow with his number and "Call me, I didn't want to hook up when you were drunk. - Derek" writen on the back of a reciept from Wal Mart he found on Stiles' messy desk. 

Gets to leave a kiss on Stiles forhead when he walks out to his car. 


End file.
